Dave winced as he heard a loud crash from his kitchen, followed by Vera's roar of outrage and Jack's frantic apologies.

He steeled his resolve and focused on his notes for the campaign. Thus far, his party had been struggling against the encounters, suffering from a lack of burst damage. Hopefully, Bob would be willing to fill in a damage role, as several of the encounters had been dicey enough that he'd had to fudge a few rolls behind the DM screen to keep the party alive, and Amanda was suspicious.

Amanda hated cheating, even when it was done to keep the party alive. She also hated rerolling her character, though, so Dave was forced to balance those two factors against each other. He'd tried dropping the CR on the monsters, but Jack had run the campaign before, and he called him out on it.

Vera had come over a few hours early to start cooking, and Jack had shown up as well with a couple of six-packs and three bottles of wine, eager to celebrate the completion of his first major project, which he'd brought in on time, and on budget, which was worth celebrating on its own. Jack had received a significant bonus for his efforts, and he was already planning to buy his first house with it.

He was happy for Jack, who had taken over as project manager for a four hundred home community that had been mismanaged and had been over a year behind schedule and twenty percent over budget. It had been a risk, as the company had offered him a pittance in salary, with a closing bonus that would serve to even his salary out, assuming the project wasn't delayed any further or grow beyond the already worrying budget overage. Jack had worked his ass off for almost three years, working seventy, eighty, even ninety-hour weeks to right the ship, but it had all paid off. The closing bonus had been written with the expectation that there would be additional delays and overages and provided penalities. Dave was fairly certain that no one had expected Jack to succeed to the degree he had because the contract, as written, converted those penalities to further increases to the bonus. There had been a bit of legal wrangling when the company who had financed the project realized what had happened, but things had remained polite, with Jack showing rare and admirable restraint as he employed his considerable charisma to soothe ruffled feathers, suggesting that they simply let the lawyers hash it out.

Apparently, it had been worked out, and Jack had received confirmation from his bank that the closing bonus had been deposited. Two point five million dollars.

Dave shook his head as he considered switching the trolls regeneration either down a die or every other round. Jack had lived on a salary that worked out to be somewhere between five and eight dollars an hour, depending on how many hours he'd worked that week. He'd been technically homeless for four months, sleeping in his truck and showering at the gym.

He was willing to excuse a bit of boisterous behavior from his friend.

Jack hurried into the room, rubbing the back of his hand where a suspiciously spoon-shaped welt was visible.

"I just wanted to taste the sauce," Jack complained as he slumped into the chair next to Dave.

Dave shook his head, "You know it's going to be good," he said reprovingly, "it's been four years. Everything she cooks is good."

"I'm Italian," Jack protested as he took a long draw from his beer, "if someone is making lasagna, it's my right, no, my duty to check the sauce."

Dave shook his head.

"So," Jack continued, "according to your lovely partner in crime, we have a new player joining us."

"We do," Dave replied, "one of our classmates from UCLA, he's back in town and was looking for a group, so he looked us up."

Jack rolled his eyes. "What's he like?" he asked eagerly.

Dave sighed and leveled a stern look at Jack.

"What?" Jack asked defensively, "I've been working day and night for years now," he grumbled, "the only social interaction I have is with the group, and none of you are single," he cocked his head and grinned, "or interested in adding another partner," he teased, "so of course I'm going to want to know about the new guy."

"Jack," Dave began, "I love you brother, but I need you to be less, well..." he trailed off, "you, when it comes to Bob. We didn't know what to call it when we were eighteen, but I can tell you that he used to suffer from social anxiety, and from our meet and greet, he still does."

Dave leveled a finger at Jack, his tone serious, "Not everyone is as gregarious and socially adroit as you are, and to be quite frank, based on how he was then and how he is now, I think he might be asexual anyway."

Jack slumped back in his chair with a pout. "I can behave," he muttered.

"Good," Dave nodded, "because I'm hoping to rope him in as a ranged damage dealer, which you guys need."

"Don't I know it," Jack groaned, "once I'm level six, I'll be able to pick up Fireball from the college of lore's magical secrets bonus, but that's a ways off."

"So what does he do for a living?" Jack asked curiously.

"I'm not sure," Dave confessed, "I know he works from home, but that's it."

"You mean the king of networking didn't ask what the guy does for a living?" Jack chortled.

"I haven't seen or heard from him in over a decade," Dave replied, "I don't know him well enough yet."

"Sure," Jack said, his disbelief clear, "when is he supposed to be here?"

"I told him six," Dave responded as he checked his phone, "so assuming he's still punctual, ten minutes. He said he's up to speed on 5e, at least the sourcebooks, so we should be able to whip together a character for him in half an hour, then we can spend a few minutes doing a meet and greet once Tony gets here."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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Bob sat in his inventory, brushing Monroe with a newly purchased slicker brush.

The big floofer was purring loudly as his human-servant proved his devotion by attending to Monroe's coat.

Bob had finally decided how to introduce magic to the table. He'd initially considered fireballs, ice sculptures, and even summoning out Jake. In the end, he'd decided to go with something that couldn't be considered frightening and then expound from there.

He glanced over at the shelf where five faux leather dice bags rested.

Nothing said magic like a bag of holding.

Sure, it had taken five hundred mana crystals, but he had plenty, and he was delving every day in his Arcane Depths.

Casting Spatial Expansion on the bags ritually, to make it permanent, had caused him to consider the difference between ritual magic and Ritual Magic. Enchanting the bags of holding had been quick and easy. The Rituals he'd worked to build his Dungeon in Glacier Valley had been anything but.

The difference reminded him of casting a spell using the System skill and creating the same effect by manipulating his mana.

When things calmed down, he was going to spend as much time as he needed to be able to cast spells without the benefit of System skills.

Bob started as his phone started to beep at him. "Time for me to go," he whispered to Monroe, who was sprawled out in glorious indolence across the table.

Monroe swished his tail in response, unconcerned.

Bob took a deep breath and portaled out of his inventory, appearing between two trees and a shrub that served to provide shelter from prying eyes. Stepping out and onto the sidewalk, he walked the two blocks to Dave and Amanda's. He gave his reflection in the glass of the door a quick once over.

He'd decided to wear his gear, remembering that everyone in the group used to dress up as their characters. He also wanted to have the bonuses in case the night went well.

He pushed the doorbell.

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"I'll get it," Amanda announced as she stood up and strode to the door. She wouldn't put it past Jack to answer the door and cause a scene.

"Fresh meat," she heard Tony chuckle from behind her.

She opened the door to greet Bob and froze. He'd remembered that they used to dress up and had gone all out. He was dressed in what looked like honest-to-goodness leather armor, mottled green in color, perfect for hiding in the forest. A heavy hooded cloak hung from his shoulders, also in dark green, the hood lowered.

To top it all off, he had a tall staff, carved with delicate runes of some sort, capped in metal on both ends.

"Amanda," Bob smiled his awkward smile.

Her brain slipped back into gear, and she returned his smile, idly noting that despite how awkward the man was, his costume didn't seem to add to it at all. If anything, he looked more comfortable in his costume than he had in his casual clothes when they'd met at Denny's.

"Come in," she gestured as he walked forward, closing the door behind him, "let me introduce you to the group."

Bob nodded and followed her down the hallway and into the dining room that had long ago been sacrificed in the name of the sacred Sunday night game.

The table had already been silent as they awaited their new part member, yet the room seemed to still as everyone saw Bob.

"Bob," Amanda began, "this is Vera," she gestured to the tiny woman as she continued around the table, "Tony, and Jack," she motioned to Bob, "everyone, this is Bob."

"Glad to meet you all," Bob replied after a moment, his shoulders shifting.

"Damn, you went all out," Tony enthused as he stood up and leaned across the table offering his hand, "I get by with my mug and a Scottish accent," he finished in his dwarf voice, which was a register lower and in a truly terrible Scottish accent.

Bob took his hand and smiled, "The fifth rule is equipment," Bob replied, "If you aren't fully armed and armored, with fully enchanted gear, you don't have any business delving a Dungeon."

Jack stood and leveled a charming smile towards Bob as he reached out his hand as well. "Are there a lot of rules?" He asked playfully.

Bob shook his hand, "Really only six, but they tend to apply rather broadly," he replied.

Vera rose and darted around the table, fearlessly poking at his midsection, then his arms. "You're too skinny," she proclaimed, "but I can help you fix that."

Bob looked down at the tiny woman poking him and cocked his head to the side, "I do sometimes get caught up and forget to eat," he responded, speaking slowly.

Vera huffed and nodded sagely, "I'll feed you up," she stated firmly, offering her hand, which Amanda noted Bob was careful when shaking.

Dave cleared his throat and gestured to the chair to his left, the one to the right being Amanda's seat.

Bob nodded, but instead of taking his seat, instead reached into the satchel at his side.

Amanda looked at the bag in surprise. It seemed almost like a part of his armor, the strap one of several running across his chest, where the satchel was attached to his belt, with the bottom clipping to his thigh. His entire outfit, she considered thoughtfully, was eminently practical.

"I come bearing gifts," Bob said as he pulled out what she recognized as Dice Bags from a rather expensive but nice shop near UCLA.

Bob handed one of them to her and then passed the others out so that they each had one.

"Thank you," Amanda spoke first, "but you didn't have to. We all have dice."

"In some cases, too many dice," Tony muttered, shooting a guilty look at the tacklebox sitting next to him.

Bob gave them a crooked grin, "I did a little work on those," he gestured to the bag she was holding, "go ahead and check them out."

Amanda looked at the bag suspiciously. Bob hadn't and wasn't giving out a serial killer vibe. She poked it experimentally.

In the meantime, Jack had opened his bag and was shaking the bag, holding it upside down. "No dice?" He asked sadly.

"Thank god," Tony muttered as he smoothed his bag flat.

"There are dice in there," Bob's grin widened, "you just have to reach in for them."

Jack poked his fingers into the bag, trying to feel the dice. His hand disappeared into the bag, which was entirely too small to hold it.

Everyone watched as Jack shoved his arm into the bag up to his elbow before pulling it back out, clutching a twenty-sided die.

"What the fuck," Jack breathed.

"Give them a go," Bob urged.

Amanda and Dave exchanged glances. Dave opened his bag, reached into it, again up to his shoulder, and swiped his hand around, coming back out with a full set of dice minus the twelve-sided die.

Vera had turned her bag inside out and was poking at it.

"The aperture isn't accessible that way," Bob told her.

Amanda had placed her entire hand in her bag before withdrawing it.

She looked up at Bob in disbelief. "I'll echo Jack here," she said softly, "what the fuck?"

"You're holding spatially expanded bags," Bob explained, "enchanted by myself."

Bob gestured towards the center of the table, and a pile of dirt appeared six inches off the table. It was three feet across and appeared to be sitting in an invisible sphere. A spark of fire appeared on the surface of the earth, then water flowed down the sides of the invisible sphere, forming a stream that gathered in the center where it flashed to steam, rising to the top before trickling down again.

"Magic is real," Bob stated calmly, "go ahead and stuff your bags of holding, give the terrarium a poke, whatever you need to do to accept it."

Amanda looked up at Bob in amazement.

"Extraordinary claims," she whispered.

"Exactly," Bob nodded, "I have extraordinary evidence."

"So," Bob began, "I clearly have an ulterior motive for coming here tonight."

Dave choked down a hysterical laugh, "Yeah, I think we all get that now."

"I'm here to offer you all the ability to use magic," Bob continued, "and believe me, it isn't just for parlor tricks; I can regrow limbs, cure cancer, and even fly."

Amanda started taking a step back as Bob began to float off the ground, his head nearly touching the ceiling.

She looked from the bag in her hand, to the sphere on the table, to the man hovering in her game room.

"Did you just say you can cure fucking cancer?" Tony whispered.